The Brink
by Jayrin Paige
Summary: HeistAU. Riku's got a the blueprints and a plan for something. Something big. One could even call it the job of the century—but it can't be done without help. And the good thing is that he knows just where to get it.


Riku decided that the first event started years before, and he had no idea who'd set it off, with the shattering of a champagne glass and a room full of shouted accusations. That ended badly, with a slammed door and the shuffling of clothes stuffed into a duffel bag that was too small for what it's owner was about to do.

(Of course, there were probably a thousand mini-events that lead up to that big one—but Riku knew that even if he had all the time in the world, he still wouldn't be able to remember them all, much less consider them key events.)

The second event started when there was an unfortunate meeting—words were exchanged. Civilly, at first-but it escalated when two forces didn't want to give in—neither accepting what the other was proposing. Riku supposed he'd started that event—and of course, the other had ended it. Albeit, it wasn't so much of an "end" as it was a trigger—one of _many—_that would eventually lead to the third event.

The third, which was a funeral, was as tense as the other eventsonly with a dark gloom; but it was an almost happy gloom. Hard to explain, he thought—and there was still an aura of freedom in the air for Riku. Until the will was pulled out from the deepest pits of hell imaginable and Riku felt hard pressed to say that there was an end.

And now, Riku liked to think of this as the start of the fourth event—and _no_, it wasn't a good thing.

Because it wasn't possible.

He scanned the papers littered over his desk with disgust, fingertips gripping the edges—and if Riku were just a little bit stronger, he might have broken the wood. But no, the wood did not bend or break under his fingers—only creaked as he put the weight of his body on his hands before suddenly letting go. He reached back and pulled his hair out of the messy ponytail. His silver locks slid out and fanned haphazardly over his shoulders, but Riku paid no attention to that.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, told himself to relax.

How could he relax, though? It was positively the most infuriating thing he'd ever encountered—and Riku had experienced a lot of infuriating things in his life. The papers on the desk seemed to mock him, the abrasive red pen he'd written in jumping out at him, jeering that for once, for once, Riku couldn't do something. He hissed in irritation, moving to sit himself down in the desk chair. His body sank into it, and after a moment of closing his eyes, he felt he could think straight again. Opening his eyes, Riku leaned forward again and picked up some of the papers with disdain.

They were blueprints—of course they weren't actually blue, they were on white architect paper—of an old mansion. But like most other mansions, this one that the security of Fort Knox. Riku wished he were exaggerating, but he wasn't. The entrances were blocked, the exits were blocked—there was no way in, the security was tighter than anything he'd ever even dared to breech, impeccably planned and Riku pressed his lips tightly together when he imagined who was the person who designed it-this flawless system that Riku could see little to no cracks in.

It was most likely the biggest stunt Riku had ever planned.

It started with breaking and entering into a large, profitable party, stealing and causing general havoc—but at this rate, even that couldn't be accomplished.

After all, taking down a thriving business from the inside out was a difficult idea—almost _hard _to even wrap one's mind around.

But Riku was determined to make it possible, and if there was something he acknowledged but didn't want it was;

He couldn't do it without help.

—

His phone was a dead weight in his pocket, taking up space and being a generally irritating reminder that someone who should be there wasn't there. Riku resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently against the stone sidewalk of the café he'd scheduled the meeting. He would have checked his watch-had he brought one with him, which he didn't—and scowled at his cold cup of coffee. He didn't even like coffee that much—he preferred water over most drinks, anyway. Instead, he glanced at the clock on the far inside interior of the café, noting that he was late. Ten minutes late. Riku grumbled inwardly, but, it was against his nature to outwardly do anything. He sat there for a few more minutes, before impatience won over and he pulled out his phone only for it to ring while in his hand.

It was a text message, though, not a call. He slid the screen back and pressed open. It was from an unknown sender, and Riku half expected that.

"_turn around_", it said, and Riku obliged, again, half expecting the sender to be standing behind him or across the square, possibility even sitting at the table behind him. But no, in fact, he was not. Riku almost texted the number back, asking if he was joking, before his eyes landed on an envelope almost impeccably placed on the seat behind him. Riku impassively picked it up, and leaned back in his chair. He could feel eyes watching him, but he didn't know who. Probably the messenger that dropped it wanting to know if he'd gotten it. He ignored the feeling and slid the nail of his thumb under the white opening, the envelope ripping—but it was a detail he didn't care about. There was a bright flyer on the inside, and Riku rolled his eyes.

It was for a club—and considering the person he was trying to get in contact with, it wasn't surprising. It was a flyer for _Flare_, one of the higher end clubs in the city—littered with people who weren't celebrities but were still well-known enough to get on the guest list or rich enough to buy their way in. And it was also owned by someone he knew—so that made things easier. There was a note scrawled messily on the bottom, accompanied by a time in thick black sharpie.

"_sorry, gotta be careful. you know why. 11pm."_

Riku should have expected this too, considering the man he was trying to get in contact was a wanted, fire-loving arsonist and demolition expert. But, wanted or not, Axel was the _best—_and the best is what Riku _needed. _

_

* * *

_

Funnily enough, this was way different than what I intended to write. Humhum. Anyway, it's been festering in my mind so I figured I'd just… write it? 8D

Also, hello to anyone who actually remembers who I am!


End file.
